Phone Tag
by Tashaelizabeth
Summary: What's really going on with all those phone calls? SLASH
1. Chapter 1

The phone rang.

Wilson reached into his pocket and withdrew his cell phone. Julie rolled her eyes. Wilson smiled graciously at his guests. It was rather impolite to have his phone on in such a fine establishment. A passing waiter gave him a dirty look. He smiled charmingly, allowing on gossip to get around that the rude man with the cell phone was actually Dr. James Wilson, yes, the oncologist.

"Excuse me." He said, turning from the table. He flipped up the phone, ignoring the caller id. "Hello."

"Hey." The voice was rough and breathy. Wilson felt a jolt of fear go through his stomach.

"House."

Julie rolled her eyes so hard Wilson was amazed nobody notices. She started a conversation concerning his job, how important he is, how well paid. Wilson figured he had approximately three minutes at the table, maybe ten if he left to the coatroom, and only that if he pretended this was work related.

The way House said that one word let Wilson know it isn't.

"Hey, what are you doing?"

"I'm at dinner."

"With her?" 

"Yes. Make this quick."

"Never."

There was something going on.

"How can I help you?"

"You could run out on dinner, come over, strip off all your clothes and climb into bed with me."

"What does he do?" Wilson heard the other woman ask.

Julie's voice had no hint of pride. "He's an oncologist. He works with cancer patients."

"Oh, that's so noble."

Wilson took a sip of wine and twisted his body as far from the table as humanly possible.

"I'm already in bed you know…waiting. Are you at a nice place?"

"Yes."

"What are you wearing? Are you wearing a tux?"

"No."

"A nice suit then. You look so sexy in a nice suit. I always want to rip you out of them."

"What's the diagnosis?" He said.

"You're pretending it's a business call? That's not right. That's down right bad. You should be punished for that." And what is it about the way House said punished that made all the hairs on his arms stand up?

"And the symptoms?"

"I'm lying on my bed, clothes in a heap on the floor. I'm running my hand down my chest, over my stomach…oh…" House groaned.

Wilson rubbed the back of his neck. "Any swelling?" He couldn't quite believe he was playing this game.

"Oh yeah, I'm swollen. Hard. Aching."

"So there's pain?"

"Yeah." House gasped. Wilson could faintly hear the rhythmic sounds of House taking himself in hand. "Yeah. I'm so hard it hurts. So hard for you. Thinking about you."

"A temperature spike?"

"Yes. Yes. I'm hot. My skin is all hot. If you were here you could feel it."

Wilson tried to say something, but his mind was quickly failing him. House laughed, hard and guttural. "Say 'elevated pulse.'"

"Elevated pulse." Wilson repeated.

"I can feel my heartbeat in my temples and I can hear it in my ears. Oh Christ."

"And…the…" Wilson grabbed his wine glass and took a much larger gulp. "Patient's current condition?"

"Can't you tell? I'm jerking off. I'm laying on my bed jerking off and thinking about you. I miss you. I want you here, so bad. I love you, Wilson."

Wilson nearly dropped the phone. "Drug interaction?" He asked. "Neurological condition?"

"Don't make jokes. It's true. I love you, Wilson."

"I…agree. That's what's going on. That makes sense."

"Oh god. I love you. I'm so close. You don't have to be clever. Just talk. I love to hear your voice. Just talk to me."

"I definitely think you should continue the current course of treatment."

"Try and stop me."

"Yes, continue the current course of treatment, maybe on an even more aggressive schedule."

"Go harder? I can go harder." Wilson could hear the tension rising in House's voice.

"Definitely give it all yo…we got." Wilson glanced at his dining companions. The woman was chatting cheerfully with Julie. The man was staring into the bottom of his martini. "We certainly don't want this condition to deteriorate. This isn't a time for wait and see, this is time for action."

"Can I call you Jimmy? Just this once? When nobody can hear us?"

"I…" Wilson set the now empty glass on the table. "Yes." He glanced at Julie. "_God yes._" He said in a low voice, then cleared his throat. "Yes, that's a good idea. You finish this treatment and I'll be over as soon as possible to lend a hand."

"Or a…" House grunted. "Or a mouth, right Jimmy…" The voice trailed off and the panting grew louder.

"Or that. I think we're in for a long, hard night, Doctor. I'm thinking multiple treatments, one right after another. As much as the patient can take. Don't you think?"

House's breath came out in a long low moan that sounded almost, to Wilson, like his name. Wilson let his eyes fall closed. He could see House in his bedroom, a drink at his elbow, his body arching as far as it could and shaking, shaking hard with rough relief.

The phone disconnected.

Wilson said goodbye, business like, to the dial tone and then hung up himself.

He reached into his wallet and removed his gold card, handing it Julie. "Allow me to pay for dinner. I'm so sorry everyone. I have to go. It's an emergency." He kissed Julie on the cheek. "Can you get home, darling?"

She nodded, avoiding his gaze.

As the valet arrived with his car and he climbed inside he withdrew the cell phone again and hit redial. The numbers that appeared on his led screen were familiar, though not the ones he expected. He pulled viciously out of the lot and turned as quickly as possible in the direction of House.

"Princeton Plainsboro." A clip efficient female voice answered.

Wilson's felt suddenly quite cold.

"What?" He squeaked.

"Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Administrative Switchboard. How may I direct you're call?"

"Diagnostics." Wilson managed.

"I'll connect you to Dr. House's office right away." The voice said and some terrible waiting music came on.

"Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Bringing excellence to the future through your excellent care."

Wilson executed a swift and illegal u-turn. He made a mental note to inform Cuddy that the hospital's motto made absolutely no sense. He then barreled down an alley and into a residential neighborhood, all before the phone rang twice. He didn't believe House was really there, but he'd still turned toward the hospital.

"It's House."

He answered. He really answered.

"You said you were at home."

"You said I was a cancer patient."

"No, I said you were a patient of mine. You _are_ a patient of mine."

"You said I had a neurological condition."

"You _better _havea neurological condition. From your office. You called from your office. You did _that _in your office." The second half of that statement didn't quite come out the way he meant. He felt his fear ebb, his stomach started to ache again in that wonderful way.

"What if somebody caught you?"

"That's sort of the point."

"Not always." He hit the brakes, stopping outside a row of dim houses. This neighborhood was almost exactly like his own, yet he felt absolutely alien here. "I'm going to your apartment." He decided, his voice deepening. He u-turned again, narrowly missing some trashcans. "I'm almost there now. I'll be in your bedroom in ten minutes."

"In the suit." It was a realization, not a question.

"In the suit. You can either come home…" Wilson smiled mischievously. "Or you can call. Up to you."

Dial tone.


	2. Chapter 2

The phone rang.

"Wilson." He said as he picked it up, not bothering to look up from his paperwork.

"Hey."

Wilson looked up.

"Where are you?" He asked.

"At home. On my bed. Where are you?"

"Well, I answered my phone, where do you think I am?" A nurse looked at him from the hallway, noticing his stricken face. He immediately adopted a more somber expression.

"What I meant was, is anybody there with you?"

"No."

"Good." And there was all sorts of relief in that good.

"Do you do this to all your friends when you get bored?"

"Just the pretty ones."

Wilson stood and tried to see through his balcony window into House's office without pulling the phone off the table. He couldn't; the angle was impossible.

"Where are you?" He repeated.

"I told you. At home. On my bed."

"I don't believe you."

"Then why'd you ask? What are you wearing?"

Wilson smiled. "I think your neurological problem might be returning."

"No fair. No man is responsible for the things he says in that condition. What are you wearing?"

Wilson slid across the room and kicked the door shut. "Gray pants. Light blue shirt. Tie. Lab coat." He rattled off, circling the desk and sitting back into his chair. "How about you?"

"You're not being any fun." House whined.

"Gosh, I'm sorry. Let me explain it to you again. Most doctors have these things called patients, pesky things and…"

"Are your blinds open?"

Wilson glanced at his wall. A janitor pushed a dust mop down the hallway. "Yes."

"Good." House's voice lowered. "And the door is shut, right? I heard you shut it."

Wilson felt a chill run through his body. "Yes…"

"So everyone can see you, but nobody can hear you? That has potential." He made a little noise in the back of his throat. Wilson heard the sound of House's bedsprings creak and was a little embarrassed to realize he knew their exact pitch and resonance. He took a deep breath.

"Can anybody see you?" He asked, slowly.

"Of course not, I'm all alone. It's the middle of the day. I could scream and scream and nobody would notice."

"What might you be screaming?"

"Oh god. Oh, baby. Yes. Don't stop." He said these things in a perfectly normal tone. Wilson felt his face flush.

"And what else might you be doing."

House laughed. "I might be rubbing my hand over my jeans. I might be pulling open my fly. I might be…oh."

Wilson realized he was panting. He glanced at the hallway; the janitor was pushing his mop around in a circle and pretending not to look at the sweaty, panting oncologist. Wilson gave him a dirty look, then hunched over his desk, picking up a pen.

"You stopped talking." House whined. "You need to talk or this doesn't work."

"Well, I don't know what to say."

"What would you do if you were here?"

Wilson began doodling circles on somebody's lab results. "I'd slap you for trying to do this in the middle of the day."

"Wilson." The voice was rough and demanding.

Wilson dropped the pen. "Well, I'd take off your pants."

"Too late."

Wilson lowered his face in his hand. "I'd lay right next to you, so you could feel my body heat. I would breathe into your ear; kiss your neck, like you like. I'd run my hands through your hair. I like the way your hair feels in my hands." Wilson smiled. "I'd run my hands all over you. Bite your collarbone. When I bite you there you always make this noise."

House groaned.

"Not that noise." Wilson shifted forward. "It's a little higher."

House laughed. "So you're the reason I'm all bruised up."

"Yeah…" Wilson smiled wider. "What are you doing?"

"You know what I'm doing." House's voice came out in a rough rhythm in time with his breath. "I want to know what you'd be doing."

"I'd…" Wilson lost his train of thought. "I'd…um…I'd…"

"I think you were biting my collarbone."

"Right, collarbone." Wilson rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, I guess, I'd kiss your chest. Down your chest really, down your stomach. I'd lay between your legs and…"

"You can't lay between my legs. The bed's to short."

"Now, who's being no fun?"

"You can't lay between my legs and you're not tall enough to kneel on the floor, not the way I'm laying. Do something else."

"Like what?" And even through the arguing, the mood didn't lift. Every time Wilson blinked, he could see what House must be doing. The vision sent alternating waves of heat and cold through his body.

"Straddle my legs."

"I can't." Wilson's voice broke. He thought to glance out the hallway and sighed in relief when the janitor proved to be halfway to the elevators.

"Sure you can. Straddle my legs." The voice enticed.

Wilson swallowed hard. "I straddle your legs. I've got all my weight on you but it doesn't matter. I still have my clothes on, remember? You can feel the fabric of my pants against your bare legs."

"Cock…tease."

"Yeah." Wilson breathed. "I lean over you and you rub up against me…"

"And then…" House's voice was tense, barely audible through harsh breath.

"I kiss you." Wilson said matter of factly.

House gave a strangled groan. "Yes, I'm gonna…"

"Hard." Wilson said louder. "I kiss you hard. I stick my tongue in your mouth. I lick the roof. I bite your lips. I've got my hands on either side of your head and my weight on my hips and they're rubbing against your hips and I'm kissing you." Wilson closed his eyes and pressed his hand against his neck. His heartbeat throbbed against his fingertips.

House's breath was returning to normal. The tense feeling of lust was slowly ebbing. Wilson heard the creak of bedsprings. A laugh.

"It certainly doesn't take you very long." He said.

"You're not as young as I used to be." House said, sounding tired.

"Oh, that explains it." Wilson grinned. "What are you up to tonight?"

"I'm going to clean up, and then I'm going to take a nap. That's as far as I've gotten. Why?"

Wilson leaned back in his chair. "My last appointment is at 5:30…" He said invitingly, kicking his feet up on his desk.

"You bring the pizza. I'll provide the porn."

"Yes, or I could take you out to dinner."

Silence.

"In one of the suits?" Wilson added before he could stop himself.

"Look." House said finally. "I don't know if…"

"If this is concerning you neurological condition of temporary lapses in sanity…" Wilson pulled his feet off the desk and placed them firmly on the ground. He glanced out the window and when seeing no one curled his freehand around the mouth piece of the phone and spoke in the lowest tone he had in this entire conversation.

"I love you, too." He said, softly.

Silence.

"Pick me up at six." House sighed.

Dial tone.


	3. Chapter 3

The phone rang.

House held his hand up, stopping the patient's babble midword, and flipped open the phone.

"What?" He asked, speaking low.

"Hey." The voice was shaky and rather unsure.

House immediately sat up straighter. This was possibly going somewhere he liked.

"Where are you?" He asked.

"On your bed. You're not going to say anything suspicious."

"Why?"

"Because, you're kinky, you get off on this stuff and if I get embarrassed I won't do the really dangerous stuff like have sex in the elevator or on Cuddy's desk or something."

House had never actually considered having sex on Cuddy's desk. He liked it. "I'm in the clinic; want to come down for a consult?"

"That's suspicious. Besides, I'm on your bed. Listen." House heard the sounds of bedsprings creaking.

The patient glared at him.

"Hang on." House covered the mouthpiece of his phone. "There is nothing wrong with your eye. You're wearing your boyfriend's contact lens."

"I don't have a boyfriend." The patient huffed.

"You're roommate then. Whoever shares your bathroom. Go. Swap. Relieve their headache."

The patient left. Wilson laughed. "What was that?"

"When the file says brown and the eyes are one green and one blue; somebody's got a migraine and some other idiot runs to the walk in clinic because she thinks she's going blind." House tossed the file on the exam table. "Lets get back to you…"

"What are you doing?"

"Sitting in the clinic. One hand on my phone the other on my…cane. What are you doing?"

"I'm laying on your bed. I said that."

"I was more interested in what you're doing on my bed. Where your hands are…what your wearing…not wearing."

"I'm wearing…"

The door opened with a crash. Nurse Brenda stuck her scowling face into the exam room. "Next patient."

"I'm busy." House snapped. "Consult."

"I need the room."

"I'm…busy." House repeated.

"I need…the room."

House rolled his eyes, hoisting himself up on his cane and stalking out of the room. The clinic was full of snotty, sneezing, tired looking patients. A child chased another one across House's path.

"Do I have to repeat the question?" He asked, taking long strides toward the elevator.

"Boxers. Flannel. Not really sexy."

House jabbed the elevator button. The door slid open immediately. House entered, hitting the close door button.

"And…"

"A grey t-shirt which is to tight and I'm thinking might be yours. Sorry."

"Now that _is_ sexy."

"_House._" It was a hiss.

"Relax, I'm in the elevator." House's eyes explored the ceiling.

"If you say anything, I'm hanging up and never doing this again."

"Come on, Jamie, you don't want to be a tease. Besides you can't get pregnant your first time…"

"Goodbye."

"No, wait…" The elevator door opened and nurse entered. House blushed, looking down. "I'm sorry, I won't…" Avoiding the nurse's gaze, House hit his floor button again. "Go ahead."

"Well…I'm on your bed.

The elevator chimed, door opened. House left the nurse behind, quickly walking towards his office.

"Okay." He said, stopping a moment to glance between Wilson's office and his own. Choosing his own, he pulled open the door and yanked shut the blinds, collapsing finally in his office chair.

Wilson swallowed, loudly. "I'm staring at the ceiling."

"Right."

"I'm...nervous."

"Why?" House snapped.

"Because. Because this is weird."

House's lips drew back into a wicked grin. "I'm coming through the door."

"I thought you were at work."

"No…" House sat back in his chair. "_I'm coming through the door_."

"Right. I'm laying on the bed. You come across the room, drop your cane, sit on the bed, next to me."

"And…"

"You put your hand on my stomach, under my…your…shirt. You rub my skin."

House grinned. "Feels nice."

"Yeah, you…"

The office door opened. House picked up the closest thing and threw it at the offender. It was the giant tennis ball, unfortunately, and bounced harmlessly off the glass.

Cameron ducked her head in.

"Can we talk?" She asked.

"No!"

She was ignoring him, coming into the office with a file in her hand.

"There's this girl in the clinic with…"

"Maybe I should hang up…"

"No." House heaved a giant sigh. "You. Stay on the phone." He barked, then swung the mouthpiece of the phone down near his neck. "You. Twenty seconds."

Cameron fumbled for words.

"Five most important words. Now."

"Girl. Headache. Arrhythmia. Fever. Please?"

House's eyes narrowed. "You would waste one on 'please.' Leave the file, test for drugs, and go away. Far, far away. Go alphabetize the lab equipment if you need to, just go away."

Cameron dropped the file on House's desk and turned to go. In the doorway, she looked back at him.

"Is everything okay?" She asked sweetly.

"Get out!"

House pulled himself to his feet.

"What are you doing?" Wilson asked.

"Retreating. What are you doing? I had my hand on your stomach, is it going down yet?"

"No, you're taking off my shirt."

The sun was warm and pleasant on House's face as he went out on the balcony. He could see Wilson's dark office, the glass reflecting at him in the bright sunshine. House swung his leg up over the balcony divider and sat a leg on each side. He smiled. The metaphor seemed to suit.

"And…"

"You're running your hands along my body. Petting me."

"That doesn't sound like me."

"No, it doesn't. You're being uncharacteristically sweet. Slow. You know I want this to take all day."

"All day, huh?" House ran his hand through his hair, short nails raking his scalp. "I think we're going to need some reinforcements."

"Nope. You don't have any pain. You're not tired. We have this big bed, the sun's streaming in. You lay on the bed next to me, touching my stomach. Then you start to kiss me…"

"I do."

"Yeah, your hand goes…"

The balcony door banged open.

"What?!"

Cuddy scowled, hands on her hips. "You were due in the clinic two hours ago."

"I was just there."

"Sure." Cuddy rolled her eyes.

"I've been in the clinic since noon. I'm on a break."

"This isn't a construction site, if there are patients in the clinic you need to be down there examining them." Cuddy's heels clicked as she strode across the room. "Give me that."

"You can't have it. What if there's an emergency?"

"I definitely think I should go." Wilson said. "I'll see you at home tonight."

Cuddy grabbed the phone from House's hand. "Hello?" She rolled her eyes. "Hi, Wilson. House can't play right now."

"But Mo-om." House whined, smirking at her choice of words.

"I'll have him call you back. Have a nice day."

Dial tone.


	4. Chapter 4

The phone rang. 

It rang again.

"Aren't you going to get that?" House called through the closed door.

"It's my cell phone. It's just work." Wilson said as he bustled around the bedroom, in the midst of removing his work clothes and getting ready for bed.

House's hand jerked involuntarily. He swallowed hard and pressed the cell phone back to his ear. "It might be important." He called again.

Wilson grumbled, came out of the bedroom and, presumably, snatched his phone off the coffee table.

"Wilson." He answered.

"Hey." House said.

"House? What are you….' Angry footsteps stomped across the apartment. Someone rattled the bathroom door. "What the hell are you doing?"

"We need to talk."

"So? Come out here and let's talk."

"If I look at you I'm not gonna wanna talk. And we need to talk."

"Why?"

"You said home."

"I said what?" The voice was now coming through the speaker at his ear instead of the door.

"You said, 'I'll see you at home.'"

"So?"

"This can't be your home."

"What?!" This was yelled through the door.

"This can not be your home." House said. "Are you even looking for an apartment, anymore?"

"I've got a lead or two, the market's really bad right now…"

"You're lying." House laughed, but there was no humor in the noise. He twirled his cane a few times.

"Okay, no. No. I am not looking for an apartment, okay. Are you happy?"

"No and that's the point. I'm not happy. I'm very rarely happy. You, however are a happiness junkie. If you don't get constant positive reinforcement you go looking for it in RN's panties."

House heard Wilson walked angrily down the hallway. Upon reaching the end he turned and came back. "I didn't cheat on Julie." He said.

"Yes, you did."

"No, I didn't!"

"Yes, you did." House leaned his cane against his chest and rubbed his forehead. "With me."

Wilson was quiet again.

"You can't live here."

"Why the hell not? I don't have much stuff. I cook. I…we're good together."

"Yeah, but you're not interviewing to be my roommate. You don't want to share my apartment. You want to share my bed. That's different."

"You don't want to…anymore?" 

"I didn't say that. I love having sex. I even love being in love and, Jesus, is that something I never thought I'd say. I'm just pointing out what needs to be pointed out. You're an incredibly needing person."

"And you're an ass." This was yelled through the door. House closed his eyes briefly, hearing the door rattle again.

"Yeah. Yeah, I am. Are you hoping I'll change?"

"...No…" Wilson didn't sound sure.

"You're lying."

"…Maybe I had hoped, I'd hoped that one day you could be healthy."

House's eyes snapped open. "Well, what does that mean?" He asked, taking the offensive.

"I…I don't know."

"You don't know? You want me to be something but you don't know what it is? What exactly the hell does that mean?" 

"I want you to be healthy. It means I want you to be around for as long as…"

"For as long as you need me?!"

"For as long as it takes for us to be happy!"

House picked up his cane and pushed himself off the rim of the bathtub.

"What does that mean?" House asked.

"I…think…we can be happy, eventually, I think we'll just get everything figured out and we'll be happy. Just you and me."

"Wilson…people don't work like that."

"I know." Wilson said miserably. "I just don't want this to end."

"But it's going to. Someday one of us is going to get sick of the other. One of us is going quit. One of us is going to walkout."

"So your not letting me move in because you don't want me moving out? That's insane."

"Yeah, I'm insane. Neurological condition, remember?" House oscillated across the floor, the rubber tip of his cane skidding on the tile. "I love you, but I don't need you. You love me, or at least you think you love me and you damn well don't need me. But you have this problem of needing to be needed."

"So we're doomed."

"Yes. From the start."

Neither of them spoke for a while. House continued moving back and forth between the door and the sink. He desperately wanted to stretch out, but the floor looked entirely to far away to be a viable option. 

"Are you pacing?"

"My leg hurts."

"Okay, what about this." Wilson said. House could tell he had the one finger in the air, that obnoxious optimistic look on his face. "I'll promise to never tell you anything about how I'm feeling. That way I'll be a puzzle. If I'm a puzzle you'll have to figure me out. If you have to figure me out then you have to be around me, you'll need me. If you need me I won't go panty hunting in the nurse's locker room."

House stopped midstep.

"That is remarkably dysfunctional sounding."

"But it would work."

"Maybe…for a while." House tapped the cane against the floor. "There'd be fights."

"Loads."

"I don't apologize well."

"Of course not."

"I tend to publicly humiliate my partners."

"You already do that."

House nodded. "It fits."

"Oh thank god." Wilson said sarcastically. "Will you unlock the door yet?"

"I'll have to get a new doctor."

"What?"

"A doctor. You can't write my prescriptions and be sleeping with me."

"I don't think anybody has to…" 

"What part of public humiliation do you not understand?"

"Right, I'll tell Cuddy."

"When?"

"Tomorrow. I'll tell Cuddy tomorrow. First thing in the morning."

House reached for the doorknob.

Dial tone.


	5. Chapter 5

The phone rang.

It rang again.

It rang a third time.

"What?" Wilson answered.

"Hey."

"No. Just no, House. I'm on the freeway, it's trying to merge down to one lane because some stupid semi driver stalled out. No way."

"I just said, 'Hey'." 

"It was the _way_ you said it." Wilson glanced around, struggling to take everything in.

"I just wanted to know if you'd heard what New Jersey did this morning?"

"Unless it involves the turnpike changing in the next twenty minutes I don't care."

"Yes, you do. They legalized it."

"I'm sure my patients will be thrilled."

House laughed. "Wrong "IT". The one we're allowed to be happy about."

"Oh, that one."

"So, wanna?"

"No." A large black SUV came swerving into lane without signaling. Wilson slammed the brakes, swearing.

"Why not?"

"One, you don't really mean it. Two, you would only use it to annoy people. Three, my mother would kill me."

"Your mother likes me."

"And that will only continue if you _never_ tell her she won't have grandchildren."

"I know better then to tell an old Jewish woman she won't get to smother little brats with cookies and…latkes?"

Wilson rolled his eyes.

"Besides." House continued. "Who says she won't?"

"You figured I said no to the marriage thing, so why not ask if I want to have kids." The traffic was at complete standstill. Wilson sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose were a migraine seemed to be forming.

"I just realized I never asked. Do you want kids?"

"I don't know." Wilson said. "Maybe, I guess." Something in House's tone made him nervous.

"Do you want my kids?"

"You know, irregardless of what you may tell everyone else at the hospital, I am in fact a man…"

"And regardless, because that's the word that you mean to use, of whatever issues you may have you should realize this is hypothetical. Hypothetically, there's a surrogate mother waiting on our doorstep. Would you want my kid?" 

"Do I have to answer this?"

"Isn't it better then cussing at traffic?"

Wilson sighed. "I don't know. I hadn't put much thought into it. Got any history of Alzheimer's or leukemia?"

"That is just about the least romantic thing I've ever heard in my entire life."

"Well, sorry. I'd like to know what I'm getting myself into. Doesn't all of your mother's side have heart problems? Hell, you've had a heart attack, haven't you?"

"That was totally not my fault."

"Still. There's just that little bit of cancer on my dad's side so we should probably go with my genes."

"My kid's would be smarter."

"My kid's would be prettier."

Traffic moved forward approximately ten feet, then stopped again. The second the SUV in front of him moved that ten feet, a ostentatious minivan behind him sounded its horn loudly. Wilson swore again.

"Yes, god forbid you have to wait thirty extra goddamn seconds to get to get to soccer practice." He muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing. No. I don't want kids. I never want to see kids ever again." He moved forward the ten feet, the minivan behind him riding his tail. "And I want all stupid overly expensive vehicles outlawed."

"Don't you drive a Volvo?"

"Shut up."

"I'd be a good Dad." House said, veering back on topic.

"Oh, you would not."

"I would be a wonderful Dad and a wonderful husband."

"Okay, I get it. This is one of those conversations. Do I actually need to say anything or can I save my minutes and have you talk to dial tone?"

"I would be a wonderful Dad because I don't sugarcoat things."

"Not sugarcoating things does not make you a good father, it makes you…" Wilson thought a second. "Well, it makes you _your_ father, actually."

Silence.

Wilson could tell House was pouting.

"That was mean." He said finally.

"I didn't say you were like your father, I just said that was something your father did."

More silence.

"I'm sure you'd be a wonderful father." Wilson said, finally.

"Why?"

"Because you don't talk to kids like there idiots." Traffic thinned again and Wilson began the nightmarish exercise of stopping and starting, pulling forward a few feet, then slamming on brakes. "Or you talk to kids like there just as much idiots as adults, or something. There's a respect thing…or there's a same amount of disrespect…I don't know, you're just good with them."

"You'd have to be the mother."

"What? Why?"

"Come on, whose more likely to give a damn if they skin their knee?"

"I can see that actually, 'Daddy, I'm to tired to walk.' 'When I was twelve I had to walk a mile and a half to school in three feet of snow!'"

"I did walk a mile and a half to school."

"Yeah, but it doesn't snow in the Sudan."

"You don't walk to school in the Sudan, you travel in trucks with armed guards. You walk to school in France, where is does snow and where the nearest school with a decent music program is a mile and a half away and don't you ever pay attention when I talk about my childhood?" 

Wilson shook his head in amazement. Finally, finally, they passed the stalled semi and started the much less complicated process of spreading out across four wonderful lanes. Traffic sped up and soon you'd never tell there'd been anything in their way. The minivan he'd swore at passed him on his left. Wilson say a mob of sweaty tired children and one harried looking mother. A blond freckled boy was bouncing a nerf ball off the seat in front of him, a fat toddler in a car seat, asleep, her hair sticking straight up with static electricity. Between the front seats a small screen dangled from the ceiling playing a bright and presumably annoying cartoon.

Wilson took this all in very quickly as the car sped ahead of him.

"Yes." He said.

"No you don't."

Wilson realized House was still on the last subject.

"No, I mean yes. Yes. Hypothetically, if there's a surrogate mother on our doorstep, yes. Absolutely, one hundred percent. Yes."

There was silence. Wilson could here House breathing.

"But the marriage thing?" He said finally.

"Never. Not in a million years."

House laughed. "Good."

"You're not about to tell me you knocked up some college girlfriend and she's just tracked you down, are you?"

"Does that sound even remotely like me? How's traffic?"

"Much better. I'll be there soon."

"Alright…" Wilson heard him take a drink of something, presumably washing down a pill. "Thank you." He said.

"For what?"

"For saying no."

"Well, thanks for asking."

Dial tone.


	6. Chapter 6

The phone rang.

"Hello."

"Hey."

Wilson smiled charmingly at his Aunt Ruthie and extracted himself from the conversation that, up until that point, had seemed to consist of all her friends' medical problems and why Wilson had yet to have any children.

He made his way through the noisy and overcrowded living room, back through the kitchen, ducking his mothers inquiring looks, and into the garage.

"Hey." He repeated.

"How's your Mom?" Wilson let his eyes fall shut shortly, reveling in the familiar sound.

"Fine. She invited Katie."

"Wife number one? Why?"

Wilson shrugged. "I don't know. She likes her." Wilson leaned against his mother's car, staring at a rack of gardening equipment. "Do you miss me?"

"You left 14 hours ago."

"Yeah. Do you miss me?"

"It…might have been a…little hard to sleep." 

Wilson grinned stupidly. "I miss you too. I kept rolling over and you weren't there. You should have come along."

"Uh, no. How's it going?"

"They keep asking why I don't have kids. I'm not even married."

"What do you say?"

"I just tell them I don't know. And smile, you have to smile."

"Tell then you've been to busy sucking cock."

"That was it! I knew there was something I was forgetting." Wilson ran his finger along a shelf, collecting dust. "What are you doing for Thanksgiving?"

"I ordered Thai…and then after she leaves I might get some takeout."

"Yeah, funny. I'm serious."

"Beer. Sleep. A very special episode of 7th Heaven."

Wilson drew his name in the dust. J-I-M-M-Y. "A Greg House trifecta. You should call Cuddy, ask her to dinner."

"Encouraging me to dine with a confident busty woman. That's a little strange."

"Well, I'm just a riddle wrapped in an enigma, aren't I? I'm serious; I'll call her if you want."

"Don't you think she has better things to do then go to dinner with me on Thanksgiving?"

"No." Wilson ran his hand across the shelf, obliterating his name. "She's staying in town this year."

"Okay, maybe. But I am not going to sleep with her. She'll just have to get pregnant the old fashioned way, cold metal tables and turkey basters." 

"I'll be sure to pass that along."

They sat in comfortable silence for a little while.

"Why?" House asked suddenly.

"What?"

"Why do you want me to go to dinner with Cuddy?"

"I'm not telling. That's the rule isn't it?"

More silence.

"You could give me a hint."

Wilson laughed. "Compersion."

"Is that my hint or did you just insult me?"

"That's your hint."

Wilson heard the sound of someone removing something the bottom of a stack. Pages fluttered. Looking up, he saw the sleds he'd loved so much in childhood stuck in the rafters, looking dusty and disused amongst bits of rope and scrap wood that never seemed to get thrown away.

"How do you spell it?" House asked, breaking his concentration.

"I'm not telling." Wilson said, a bit annoyed at the wait. House undoubtedly had that ancient leather bound Oxford English Dictionary in his lap, taking up his whole lap really, and was skimming through the C's.

"Compensator. Compere. Compete. No Compersion." Wilson heard the book close. Then footsteps across a room and something grabbed. Footsteps back to the couch.

"What are you doing?"

"Wikipedia." House muttered. Wilson heard typing. Damn that wireless internet. "Compersion- the experience of taking pleasure when ones partner is with another person. Also known as the frubbles." Wilson heard the laptop close, slowly and distinctly. "You experience pleasure when I'm with another person?" 

"Yeah. You being happy makes me happy."

"And it's called frubbles?"

"I don't know anything about frubbles."

House said nothing.

"I swear to god, I know nothing about frubbles." Wilson said, trying to make him laugh.

"That's all kinds of weird."

Wilson's smile faded. "Yeah, I know."

"If I so much as see you talking to a woman; I want to kill her."

"Yeah, I know." Wilson shifted awkwardly as though House was staring at him through the phone." I'm weird, remember?"

"You're an anomaly." This was not necessarily an insult.

"Yeah."

"Well, I'm not gonna get frubbly if you wind up fooling around. Know that."

"I didn't say frubbly. I said compersion. And I never said…"

"I'm a miserable jealous bastard and I can make you miserable too." 

"I know that. God, do I know that. No worries. I'm being good. You just….you wanted a hint, okay. So I gave you one."

"All right." House said.

"All right."

"No getting frubbly with your ex-wife." 

"What does that even mean?"

"I dunno. Just don't do it."

"Fine. I will avoid all frubbles with my ex-wife. Will you go to dinner with Cuddy?"

"Why?"

"Compersion."

"Do I have to sleep with her?"

"I'll leave that to you."

"Do I have to be nice?"

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Why is that the second thing you worry about? Yes, you have to be nice to the beautiful woman who is willing to be seen in public with you."

"You didn't make me be nice to Cameron."

Wilson ignored that. "And you need to be clean and dressed decently." 

"Okay, I'll go."

"Good, I already told her you would. She'll pick you up at seven."

"Oh for Christ's sake!" House said. "This is going to bug the crap out of me."

"But you don't understand it, right?"

"Not even a little bit."

Wilson smiled. "Then I bought us another two months."

House chuckled weakly. "Yeah, I guess."

Wilson slid off the car hood. "It's cold. I should go inside."

"Hmm? Yeah. Well…"

Wilson was barely conscious of a noise behind him. He ignored it.

"Well," House repeated. "I'll see you when you get back. I miss you."

"I miss you too."

"AndIloveyou." House mumbled.

"I love you, too." Wilson said, smiling wider.

"Well, I'll let you go…"

"Jimmy?"

This voice was not expected.

This was his mother's voice.

Which meant his mother was in the room, which meant that creak had been…

Wilson spun around, mouth open, the phone still to his ear. His mother's expression conveyed one word. Busted.

"I have to go." He said.

"Why?"

"Jimmy, what are you doing out here? Who are you talking to?" 

"Look, I have to go."

"Why?" House repeated.

"I'm hanging up now." He told House.

"Who are you talking to?" His mother asked again.

Dial tone.


	7. Chapter 7

The phone rang.

Wilson took a turn to fast, barreling down a country road.

The phone rang again.

"Come one. Pick up." Wilson muttered. The bright headlights of his car flittered across the trees, creating shadows that flickered in his peripheral vision. He was driving to fast and recognized that it was dangerous. It didn't stop him.

The phone rang again.

An answering machine picked up. A neutral feminine voice instructed him to leave a message and the owner of this number would call back.

"House. House pick up right now. I need to talk. House! Pick up. I told her, my mother, I told her everything."

The phone picked up.

"Hey?"

"You were screening?"

"No, I was asleep. It's 11:30." House didn't sound tired and Wilson had a suddenly pang of empathy. He had undoubtedly been lying in bed, staring at the ceiling and rubbing his leg. "What's going on?"

"My mother. I told my mother."

"You told your mother about what?" Wilson heard the click of House turning on his bedside light.

"About you!"

House, well the only word for it was, brayed.

"At Thanksgiving? That's so cliché!"

"I know. I wanted to smack myself. I just opened my mouth and these words started coming out."

"Please, tell me you waited until after dinner."

"Yes."

"Tell me _exactly_ what happened."

"We were loading up the dishwasher and she just kept needling me. 'Who was that on the phone? Why won't you tell me? Why didn't you bring her to dinner? Why won't you say anything? Is she married? Is she Catholic? Is she black?'"

"They asked if your girlfriend was black?"

"Yeah. 'We'll understand. We've always understood.' And I said, 'Ma, do you really want to know?'"

"She said, yes, of course."

"And I said, 'It was Greg.'"

"You didn't!"

"I did. And she of course had no idea who you were."

"So you said I was that guy with the cane."

"No, I said you were the man I worked with that she had lunch with once."

"And then she said, 'Oh, the one with the cane.'"

"Well…yes. And then she realized what just happened…"

"And?" House was entirely too excited by this.

"And she screamed. Really, really loud. And then started praying."

That was too much. House burst into more loud obnoxious laughs.

"Kinda freaking out here!" Wilson yelled, his voice pitching high.

"She started praying!" House said between laughs. "That's so good! What did your Dad do?"

"Turned up the ballgame."

House laughed again. "I meant after your mother screamed."

"Like I said, turned up the ballgame. I don't even know if he figured out what was going on."

"Okay, okay, what did your brother do?"

"He took it fine. Less concerned about being me being gay; more concerned that you're an asshole."

"Never liked him." House's voice betrayed his smug look. "Oh my god, what did Katie do?"

"I'm not telling." Wilson said. He was fully aware he sounded childish. He didn't care.

"What? Why?"

"Because I'm freaking out and you don't care."

"Okay, okay. Are you all right?"

"I guess."

"No permanent damage? Your mom, I mean. She's just upset right, she'll get over it, she's not…what's that thing where they rip their clothes and say your dead?"

"Sitting shivah? No, they're not doing that. Not that my mother would rip her good dress if I chocked to death right in front of her."

"Is it about the grandchildren?"

"Maybe. And having to shell out for three wedding presents and…I don't know. I'm a doctor, you know. I'm supposed to be the good Jewish son. And now it turns out I've been lying to her."

"Not really. I mean did she ever ask specifically if you've been…"

"Do not finish that metaphor. No, she didn't. Yes, I was still lying."

To Wilson's relief he found the onramp to the highway. Drumming the car up to 70 was enough to waylay some of the panic.

"I'm coming home." He informed House.

"I guessed that. What did Katie do?"

"She cried."

"Figures."

"Then she hit me."

House ineffectually smothered a laugh. "Little bitty Katie?"

"Punched me right in the face. Then she said, 'Well, I guess that explains everything.' and started defending me to my mother."

"Really?"

"Yeah, said, 'I'm upset too, but don't we just want him to be happy?"

"So…" House said slowly. "She…flubbled you."

"The word is frubble. And shut up."

"So…"

"So?"

"So how does it feel?"

"How does what feel?"

"You're out of the closet."

"Oh God. I don't know! What the hell is it supposed to feel like?"

"I don't know. I've never been."

Wilson realized he was going entirely to fast. "Hang on." He muttered and set the phone on the passenger seat. He took a breath. He took another. The speedometer coasted slowly down from its extreme edge. He reminded himself to keep breathing, slowly and in rhythm no matter what. He picked up the phone again. "Okay." He said. "I'm okay."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I just…wow…you know? I told my Mom. Ball is in her court. I don't have to worry anymore."

"I told Stacey once." House threw in.

"Really?"

"Well, she didn't believe me."

"Was this before or after you slept with her in an attempt to break up her marriage?"

"Well…before. I'm just saying, it was good, even though she thought I was joking. Was it good?"

"Yeah…it was good." Wilson said. He sighed. "I want to be home."

"So come home."

"I am. Will you wait up for me?"

"You want me to wait three hours so you can come home and go to bed."

Wilson allowed himself ten more miles an hour. "Two and a half and yes."

There was a pause. "Yeah…" House said. "I'll wait up."

"Thanks."

Dial tone.


	8. Chapter 8

The phone rang.

It was dark and warm. Wilson woke.

The phone rang again.

Wilson woke in his own bed, which was heaven, considering the circumstances.

"The phone's ringing." He informed House. House said nothing, merely groaned and burrowed his face into the warm space between Wilson's back and the mattress.

The phone rang a third time.

Wilson reached for it, fumbled at buttons and pressed it to his ear.

"Hello?"

"James?"

"Katie?" He reached for the light and turned the switch. House flinched at the ocular assault, burrowed deeper, his hands clutching at Wilson's sides. Wilson, reluctantly, pulled out of the warmth and sat up. "Katie? It's 4:30 in the morning."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"What's going on? Is everything okay?"

"James. Your mom wants to talk to you."

"Jimmy…"

"Hi, Mom."

House sat up, one hand rubbing furiously at his thigh, the other pushing just as hard against his eyes. Greg House did not wake up all at once, especially at four thirty in the morning.

"Jimmy. Hi. How are you?"

"I'm fine, Mom. What's going on? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Did you get home all right?"

"Yeah Mom, of course."

House shifted across the bed, reaching across Wilson's space for his Vicodin bottle. He shook out a pill and dry swallowed it. He sat up, using his hands to move his leg into place.

"And you're at _his_ house, yes?"

"Well, it's an apartment, but yes."

House's dry, warm hands crept under Wilson's shirt, rubbing his back.

"Mom, why did you call?" Wilson pressed one hand against his temple.

"I've been talking to Katie. She's a very sweet girl."

"I know she's a very sweet girl, Mom, I was married to her."

"I know! That's what I don't understand. She's such a sweet girl and so pretty. And so was Rachael and…well…Julie I never cared for, but she was so very pretty."

Wilson flinched. "It's not about that, Mom. You should know that! I mean you have to have seen it on TV or _something_."

House chocked down a laugh, but didn't say anything. His hands kept rubbing. He leaned his head against Wilson's shoulder.

"I know. I know. And it doesn't have anything to do with me and it doesn't have anything to do with your father or…anyone else in the family. And nothing happened to you, when you were little, I mean?"

"Oh, Jesus, Mom. No. Nothing."

"Because I've heard that can happen."

"Nothing bad happened. I just…" Wilson looked down into House's face, the big blue eyes cloudy with sleep. "I just fell in love."

"I want to talk to him."

"What? No. I mean, I don't think that's a good idea."

"James. I am your mother. I did not got through god knows how many false labors, plus the actual pain and suffering of giving birth, plus eighteen years of laundry and hot supper every night plus paying for your medical school to be 'I don't think it's a good idea'd' by you at four o'clock in the morning. I have a right to know what's going on in your life. Now…I want to talk to him."

Wilson pushed the phone to House.

"Hmm?" House asked.

"She wants to talk to you."

House raised an eyebrow, lifting his head off Wilson's shoulder. Wilson shrugged. House took the phone.

"Hello?"

Wilson took a deep breath. The hand resting on his back tensed.

"Yes…Greg…Greg House… _Doctor _Greg House." House withdrew his hand from Wilson's shirt and pressed it at the place between his eyes. "John Hopkins … Uhhuh …uhhuh …football injury…no, I'm kidding." House's hand left his face and moved to Wilson's leg, rubbing it as if it were his own. "I got sick, the muscle died. They had to cut it out." There was a longish pause. House smiled. "You know, that never made sense to me either…Uhhuh… No, never…No, not even engaged…No…No, I'm just tired, I was up late waiting for our boy to come home…yeah…" House glanced at Wilson. "Yeah, he is…" His eyes narrowed. "Yes, ma'am…yes, ma'am…I'm sure we can all get together for lunch sometime…yes ma'am." He handed to phone back to Wilson.

Wilson covered the receiver with his hand. "What did she say?"

"She threatened me." House rubbed his eyes and fell back onto the bed, his hand wormed its way back under Wilson's t-shirt, the pads of his fingers brushing skin..

"Mom?" Wilson asked.

"He seems like a very nice man." She said wearily.

"Thanks, Mom."

"I think I'm going to go to bed…oh my…it's nearly five. What must you think of me?"

"Its okay, Mom. Doctors here. Used to odd hours. You call whenever you want."

House groaned. "Don't tell her that."

Wilson pointedly ignored him. "Can I talk to Katie?"

"Of course."

"Hello?"

"Hey. Thank you. Thank you so much."

"Oh, it's okay. I've been through it before, remember my brother?"

"Yeah. But thank you. That can't have been easy."

"Oh, it wasn't that bad. She mostly just needed to talk. Just promise me I get to tell my mother next. She's convinced I ran you off."

"Sure. Anything. How'd Dad take it?"

"Oh, right. He told me to tell you not to make your mother so upset. He went to bed just after you left"

Wilson rolled his eyes. "I don't know if the man is just immeasurably steady or completely senile. Could you see Mom gets to bed okay?"

"Sure, no problem."

"You're wonderful. I'm sending you flowers."

House punched his side. "No way." He said, pointing a finger at Wilson. "No frubbles on my watch."

"Or wine. Or chocolate. Or a date with a doctor. That would get your mother off your back.. I know a couple nice ones."

House swung himself into a sitting position then leaned behind Wilson to snap off the lamp. "Katie," He called over Wilson's shoulder, where he tottered unevenly for a second. "Wilson needs to go to bed now, okay?" Then he crash-landed back onto the pillow.

Katie giggled. "I'll let you go."

"Yeah."

House threaded his hand through Wilson's and tugged until Wilson lay with his stomach pressed flush against House's back.

"Thanks again." He said, fumbling for the off button in the darkness.

Dial tone.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: Bits officially wrong now. Who the _hell_ thought they would do an entire episode about parking places? **

The phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Hey." House leaned back in his office chair, tapping his cane against the floor. "What's up?"

"Are you still at work?"

"Yeah, every time I get to the parking lot my patient goes into respiratory arrest. You don't think that's actually a symptom, is it? I mean the parking lot thing."

"Yes, I'm sure the patient has a bizarre disease that is being treated inadvertently with proximity to grizzled jackasses."

House's eyes narrowed. "Are you mad?"

"No…"

"Yes, you are. You're mad. Why are you mad?"

"You could have called."

"Could of. Didn't. No, point in getting mad about that." There was a metallic clang. "What was that?"

"I dropped a spoon in the sink."

House smiled to himself a moment before widening the expression into a cocky grin. "Ah, honey. You cooked."

"Shut up."

"You did, didn't you? You made dinner."

"Shut up."

"Please tell me there aren't any candles involved."

"_Shut up_." There was a pause. "I just haven't seen much of you lately. When you said you didn't have any patients this morning, I thought…"

"Patient showed up around three."

"Right…okay."

"If you really miss me you could come by my office and _miss_ me."

"No."

"You're no fun."

"Not after what happened last time."

"That was weeks ago."

"Every time I get into an elevator with an intern I get asked if I'm going down."

"So? Smack them. They're just interns." House pivoted, turning to look out the back window. "We never did it in my office, did we? Always in yours."

"No, we didn't. That would be because your office is made of glass."

"It has blinds." House defended. "I've always wanted to do that."

"I'm sorry, that speaks volumes about your psychological makeup."

"Why? Because I spend all my time in a certain place and I'd like to have some fond memories concerning it?"

"No, that you want to equate the insane amount of control you have over your fellows with having sex with me."

House squirmed. "I didn't say that."

"Don't pout. I was teasing."

"Yeah."

Wilson sighed. "I always wanted to have sex on the roof." He offered.

House quirked an eyebrow. "Really? Why? Is it a being outdoors thing or do you just like the idea of being above all the puny mortals?"

"Yes, that's it. I have a God complex, you didn't know?" House could hear Wilson's smile. "I just like the idea. You know. Out in the open, but nobody knows. Nobody can see you."

"Until the interns come up to sneak cigarettes and you wind up with a whole new bunch of comments for the elevator."

"Your turn."

"Cuddy's desk."

"Not unless you are in fact having sex with Cuddy."

"Fine." House pondered this shortly. "How about the back stairwell? Nobody would expect me to be there."

"That's because everyone takes the stairs to avoid you."

"I know. This would teach them."

"I am not having sex in public to frighten your fellows. Sorry."

"Okay, how about on the motorcycle?"

There was a pause. Wilson spoke slowly. "I'm listening."

House smiled. "I'd take you for a nice long ride into the country. You'd have your arms around my chest."

"That sounds nice."

"Out into the woods. Middle of nowhere. Stop by the side of the road."

"Nothing says romance like pulling pine needles out of your ass."

"Who said anything about pine needles? I'd just spin around, pull you close, open your fly…" House heard Wilson swallow hard.

"I…don't think…that would work..."

"Sure it would."

"No. I think we'd fall."

"Mood killer." House said. Reaching in his pocket, he found a lollypop purloined from the pedes desk. He pulled off the wrapper and stuck it in his mouth. "The convertible then."

"You still have that? Where the hell do you keep it?"

"In my parking spot in the garage, where else?"

"But you drive your bike back and forth to work everyday, and you park in the handicapped space."

"That doesn't mean I don't have a parking place, I'm a department head, you know, it has my name on it and everything."

"Why don't you just take it home?"

"Because if I parked it in the street it would get stolen."

Wilson said nothing. House could see him shaking his head.

"Don't tell Cuddy."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"Anyway." House said, pulling the lollypop from his mouth and resting it against his bottom lip. "What if we took the convertible to the country? Drove through the back roads with the top down?"

"Can I drive?"

"What the hell, it's just a fantasy. You drive. And you be the one climbing over the gear box."

"No, you have to do it while I'm driving. That's the point."

House laughed. "What are you? In college?"

"What the hell? It's just a fantasy. I'm in college, came back home for break. You borrowed your father's car while he's out of town. We went for a joy ride."

"And I let you drive?"

"You _really_ like me."

"And maybe I try to show you just how much I like you."

"Of course."

"Only if you promise to act all sweaty and scared, like you would have been if a man came on to you in college."

"Of course. We're just buds. How could I suspect anything else? I know there was that rumor going around but I ignored that, kids are so cruel."

"That's it." House said, pushing up out of his seat.

"What?"

"I'm coming to pick you up."

"Why?"

"My dad's out of town. Wanna go for a joyride?"

"You have a patient."

House stopped, rolled his eyes. "I can study for that tomorrow. Come on."

"Not a paper, a patient. I real, and I hope, live one."

"She's on a ventilator. Whose she gonna complain to?"

"No. I'm tired. I spent the last hour cooking."

House smiled. "Alright."

"This weekend however…" Wilson's voice pitched a little higher. "I mean, I was gonna go to this party but…I don't know. My high school friends might be there you know? It would be, like, awk-ward. Will your Dad be out of town Friday?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Then totally."

"Great." House said. Through the glass, he saw Chase, coming towards him, a printout in one hand. "Gotta go. I think my report card is coming."

"See you Friday."

"Definitely."

Dial tone.


	10. Chapter 10

The phone rang.

It rang again.

House stared at it, contemplating.

The phone rang again.

Decision made, his body went into action immediately. He skidded across the room and yanked the handset out of the recharger.

"Hey." He said.

Silence. On the other end someone breathed, rough. House heard the sound of metal on metal.

"Are you leaving?" He asked.

"Do you always have to get right to the fucking point like that?" Wilson's complaint came out in one breath. Then silence.

House swallowed. "Are you leaving?" He repeated.

"I might." The metallic sound again and House realized it was keys being hefted in careful thought. "I'm _pissed_." Wilson said.

"I know."

"I'm _real pissed._"

A thought struck House and he carefully made his way across the living room towards the front windows. Pulling back the blind, he saw the empty street bathed in moonlight and if he angled just right, the man sitting on his stoop, staring at the ring of keys in his hands incomprehensibly. He hooked his cane on the table.

"I know." House said again.

"You _lied_."

House leaned forward, his forehead against the cool glass. "You were much happier with the lie."

"I'm much happier drinking regular coffee, until I'm up all night with a headache."

"You drink decaf coffee?" House asked incredulously. The moment the words left his mouth, he sighed in irritation. He didn't mean to go skidding off topic like that. "You're not upset," he said, letting his eyes fall shut for a moment, "because the wild dog you were trying to nurse back to health bit you. You're upset because the wild dog you were trying to nurse back to health bit you…just like everybody said it would." He opened his eyes again. "Including the dog."

"This is not my fault!"

"I know that."

"You are not going to _make_ this _my fault._"

"I wasn't…"

"I am not trying to nurse anyone…"

"It's understandable…" House squeezed the bridge of his nose.

"You are not a dog."

"It's just a…"

"And this is not my goddamn fault!"

House took a deep, slow, even breath. The window fogged.

"I'm sorry." He said as the fog slowly faded, revealing the man again.

"Oh, you are not."

House rolled his eyes, suddenly very angry. "If I'm not sorry, then what the hell does it matter if I say it or not."

Silence. Wilson's breath came out in white puffs, drifting away before dissipating.

"You sound cold." House said finally.

"I am cold."

"That's because you buy coats based on looks, not on the probability of cold winters occurring in New Jersey."

Wilson hissed between his teeth. "Yeah? Great!"

"Look! I'm not _trying_ to fight. I'm not trying to lie either…just come back."

"No."

"You don't want to go. If you wanted to go, you would be gone. You're just sitting there because you want me to chase you and if you really go, then I _can't_ chase you and….just come back inside."

"No." Wilson said, sounding

"But you…" 

"Don't tell me what to goddamn do!"

House smirked. "What to goddamn do?"

Wilson stood.

"Wait!"

Wilson paused. House could see his ribs rising and falling with each breath.

"I don't like this." Wilson said.

"What don't you like?" 

"This. All this. The fighting. The lying. The…" Wilson sighed and dropped back on the porch. "I don't know if I can do this…"

"No!" House yelled. He took a deep breath, struggling to regain control of the volume of his voice. He did, but the words still came out raw and forceful. "If you're going to end us, if you're going to walk away from his relationship… and it is a relationship…say it. Don't say 'I can't do this.' Say 'I'm leaving you.'"

"I didn't say that…"

"Go ahead. Say it. 'I'm leaving you.' Three words. 'I'm leaving you.'"

"House…"

House raised his arm and knocked on the wall. Once. Twice. As if he was knocking to be let inside. He leaned his forehead on the glass. Wilson said nothing.

"Say it!"

The anger went through his body and into his arms. House struck.

The drywall crunched between House's knuckles.

House stared at his hand.

"Ow." He said.

Wilson turned his head. "Was that a question?"

"Hang on." House set the phone on the table and used his other hand to guide his fist out of the wall. The skin of his knuckles glistened with blood but a quick examination led him to believe he hadn't broken any bones. It hurt like hell though. He shook the hand experimentally, pressed it into his other palm, wincing at the pain.

House picked up the phone. "I'm gonna need a doctor."

"What?" Wilson turned.

"No, don't come in yet. We need to finish this. I'm just warning you I'm going to need a doctor…and a repairman. I'm not letting you come back because you're worried."

"I'm on the porch. It's not coming back, it's turning around."

"Are you leaving me?"

Wilson shook his head.

House sighed in relief. "Good."

"I didn't even say anything." Wilson looked around anxiously.

"I know. I'm watching you through the front window."

"House!" Wilson spun around, staring in disbelief.

"Yeah. Jerk. Sorry." House raised his arm. "And I put my hand through the drywall."

Wilson shook his head. "Incredible."

"Yeah." House looked at his feet. "Come back?"

Wilson took a deep breath. He nodded, let the phone fall from his ear and shut it.

Dial tone.


	11. Chapter 11

The phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Hey, we're out of eggs."

Wilson froze; half-expecting ninja cripples to drop out of the sky. "Where are you? How could you possibly know I was at the grocery store?"

"I put a tracking dot in your shoe."

Wilson paused, considering this.

"Oh my god. I'm kidding." House said.

Wilson accepted a cart from an elderly attendant and started off down the first aisle.

"And bread. We're out of bread." House said.

"I'll get bread to tomorrow. From the bakery."

"I like the cheap bread. It makes better toast."

Wilson rolled his eyes but grabbed a bag of white bread off the shelf as he passed it.

"How did you know I was at the grocery store?" Wilson asked.

"Last night we got take-out. This morning you opened the fridge and sighed and then got a bagel on the way to work. You left work before I did; but I'm home and you're not. All signs point to…"

"Grocery store."

"Bingo. We're out of rat food too."

Wilson sighed and turned back to the animal products aisle he'd skipped. "Why don't you just make a list?"

"I'm not going grocery shopping. Why should I make a list?"

Scanning the shelves frantically, Wilson reached the end of the aisle and turned around. "They don't have rat food."

"Well, what are we gonna feed Steve?"

"How about that crappy bread?"

"Will you get off the bread?"

"Will you get off the couch and come help me shop?"

House grumbled. "My leg hurts."

"It does not!" Wilson shouted. A young mother pushed a cart already half-full of her plump and tired looking offspring. She stared at him. Wilson tried to smile reassuringly, but wasn't quite sure he got it down.

"You don't know that."

"Yeah, I put a tracking dot in your Vicodin bottle."

"That's dumb. Tracking dot. I mean a weight sensor maybe…"

Wilson took on long slow deep breath and considered hurling his phone into the lobster tank.

"Why are you bugging me?" He asked finally.

"We're out of eggs."

"You don't even eat eggs." Wilson said.

"And bread…"Wilson sighed. "And rat food." Wilson heard the sound of the refrigerator door opening and closing. "And Monster."

"What the hell is monster?"

"It's next to the Red Bull, black can. Pick up a few."

"You're just bored aren't you?" Wilson said, not expecting an answer. He caught sight of a can of tomato sauce and tipped it into the cart. It landed squarely on the bread, squashing it. Wilson smiled.

"No." House said.

Wilson's eyebrows drew together. "Huh?"

"I'm not bored. I just thought you might be."

Wilson smiled faintly. That was possibly true. He silently nudged the can off House's bread.

"How can you stand that?" House asked.

"What? Grocery shopping? I like to eat, you know, things that don't come congealed to boxes delivered by greasy seventeen year olds."

"Please. You have to be at least 18 to be a pizza guy. Besides, what's the point of these wonders of modern civilization if nobody takes part in them?"

"Pizza Hut is not a wonder of anything and besides I like to cook."

"It gives you a headache."

Wilson's eyebrows drew together. "What? It does not."

House sighed. "Grocery shopping. It gives you a headache. You come home and act all bitchy and go to bed early."

"I do not…" Wilson began in to loud of a tone. He suddenly noticed the small children in the cart behind him. He turned away, scanning his eyes over a wall of pasta and whispered. "_I do not act bitchy._ The jerk on the phone gives me a headache. Not buying food."

"So? Same result for me."

"Oh, I'm so sorry." Wilson said sarcastically. "So sorry that you might be inconvenienced by someone going to buy food with their own money that they will cook with their own hands, just to have you eat all of it. I'm so sorry that's a problem."

House laughed. "How many people are staring at you?"

Wilson flushed, glancing around. One young mother. Two kohl smeared teenagers. Two children.

"Five."

"They all think you have the worst wife in the entire world."

Wilson laughed, pushing his cart along. "If you really want to stop me from being bored." He said, after a while. "You could come down here and do this with me sometime."

"My leg hurts."

"You're lying."

"How can you tell?"

Wilson shrugged, rounding a corner and grabbing some potato chips. "I just can. Always."

"You can _never _tell when I'm lying."

"Yeah, but I can _always_ tell when your leg hurts. Even if you don't say anything. Even if you're asleep."

"I don't believe you."

"So? Doesn't change it. I can always tell. You can be clear across the building and I'll look up from my desk and think 'House's leg hurts.'"

"Prove it."

"Okay. I'll tell you next time. I can't tell you now because your leg _doesn't_ hurt."

"Fine. My leg doesn't hurt."

Wilson smiled. A small victory. The smile faded as his eyes fell into the cart, taking stock of the odd assortment of cans, bags and boxes he'd grabbed seemingly at random.

"Forget this. I'm coming home."

"But…"

Wilson took a step away from his cart, ready to desert it in the…what aisle was this? He glanced at the sign. Popcorn, crackers and chips. Why had he even come down here?

"But…" House repeated. "We don't have any food."

"Yeah, but I can't remember what I was going to cook anyway. And I have a headache. You're right, okay; the lights give me a headache."

"It's not the lights, it's your hyperopia."

"My what, now?" Wilson asked, moving quickly out of the aisle. The cart was officially abandoned. He headed toward the door.

"Your far sight."

"I don't need glasses."

"Nope, because you've figured out how to compensate for it. Unless, of course, you have to quickly switch between scanning distant shelves and reading labels up close, over and over again. Then you get a headache. It's also why you tilt your head back when you look at computer screens."

"As sweet as your obsessive detailing of my every flaw is…" Wilson trailed off, realizing he didn't quite know how to end that sentence. "I'm coming home." He said, lamely.

"At least get some Monster."

"I don't even know what that _is_."

"It's in a black can, next to the Red Bull."

Out of the corner of his eye, Wilson saw the impulse buy refrigerator set right before check out. Several black cans read Monster in bright letters. He grabbed a few of each kind, piling them awkwardly on one arm.

"They are not. They're between something called Ace and something called Vamp." Wilson said, dumping the cans on the motorized checkout counter. They rolled of there own volition to the bored looking kid manning the scanner. She gave him a funny look, but accepted his credit card and placed the cans in a plastic bag.

"Got it." He said, walking towards the exit. The doors whooshed open as he approached them. "I'm coming home now."

"See you soon."

Dial tone.


	12. Chapter 12

The phone rang.

House swallowed the pill he'd just tossed into his mouth and answered it.

"Hello?"

"Hey. House's leg hurts."

House's eyes went wide. "Son of a bitch." He said. "You're watching me through a window or something."

"No. It's one a.m. I'm at home. But I guess you're at work still."

"You're not psychic or anything." House said, brain whirring to assemble a theory. "I bet I have some kind of pain schedule that I haven't realized and you don't know consciously, but the self preservation part of you has it figured out and…"

"Yeah, sure. How much longer will you be at work?"

"Dunno. Patient is still a little blue." House smothered a cocky grin. He'd been waiting all afternoon to spring this joke on someone.

"What?"

"At four o'clock patient developed blue coloring."

"Hey. Who you talking to?" The little girl in the hospital bed asked. Her skin was a stunning shade of dark blue, but her pout was all kindergarten.

"My boyfriend. Want to talk to him?" House asked. The little smurfette nodded and he swapped his cell phone for the video game she'd been playing. Though she was barely out of toddlerhood, she apparently knew a thing or two about cell phones, as she easily activated the speakerphone function and held the phone in her lap to avoid mussing with the slender plastic tube that delivered oxygen to her nostrils.

"Hello?" She said.

"Hello there." Wilson said. "And who are you?"

"Abigail."

"Hi there, Abigail. Do people call you Abby?"

"Sometimes. My mom does."

"Well, Abby. How are you?"

"I'm bwue." Cell phone prowess aside, the child apparently had a bit of difficulty differentiating between l's and w's.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm bwue. This afternoon I turned bwue. Like a bwueberry."

"Well, blueberry or not. Don't you think 1 o'clock in the morning is to late for little girls to be wide awake?"

"I have hype-r-act-iv-it-y." She said, speaking the long word in a staccato. "But Dr. Cane made me stop taking my meds so's now he has to watch me so's Mommy and Daddy can sleep, cause the nurses are understaffed already."

"His name is Dr. House, you probably shouldn't call him Dr. Cane."

The child's face struck a look of fear. "Will it hurt his feelings?"

"It might."

She looked terrified over to House. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings Dr. Mouse. I'm sorry. You're not sad, are you?"

House was trying desperately not make any noise, thus alerting Wilson to the speakerphone. He clenched his jaw to keep from laughing, and shook his head.

The girl looked relieved. "He's not sad anymore. I didn't mean to forget to be tolerant."

"To be what now?"

"Tolerant. You know, to be nice to everyone equally and not make funna them cause of their name or race or phys-ic-al hand-i-caps. What's your name?"

"Jimmy."

"Do you and Dr. Mouse have any kids?"

"Um…no."

"There's a boy in my class named Caleb and he has two mommy's but I never met anyone who had two daddies. If you have a kid can I meet her?"

"Yeah. Sure. Why not?"

House barely managed to muffle a snort. He hoped it sounded like static.

"Are you mad that Dr. Mouse had to watch me?"

"What? No."

"Promise?" The girl asked seriously.

"I promise."

"So you'll kiss him and hug him when he gets home?"

House did snort and it didn't sound a thing like static.

"Yes. Fine." Wilson said, growing wise. "Will you…"

"You have to promise."

"I promise." Wilson said. "Will you _please_ give Dr. House back his phone?"

The girl disengaged the speakerphone, which was good as House wasn't sure he knew how to do that himself, and handed back the phone, her pudgy navy hand stuck out for the video game. House relinquished it and pressed the phone to his ear.

"You'd rather do that then be home with me?" Wilson asked.

House sighed. "We all have to be tolerant, Jimmy."

"Yeah, are you sure her parents are going to be so tolerant about your _boyfriend_?"

House laughed. "If she can say physical handicap at five I'm sure she's being trained to ignore sexual orientation as well. Besides, what are they gonna do? Take her away? She's blue for Christ's sake."

"Bad language." The girl recited, eyes stuck on the handheld screen.

"Quiet and I'll let you watch the Simpsons later."

The girl cheered, but silenced it quickly with her hand. As she did, her character took a particularly bad hit, apparent from the music change, and she dove back into the game with renewed vigor.

"If you're not coming home, I'm going to bed."

"But Jimmy, you said you'd hug and kiss me when I got home. You're not going to break a promise to a little girl, are you?"

"If you let me go to bed now, I'll hug and kiss and do whatever you want tomorrow morning."

House leered. "_Whatever_ I want?"

"Yeah."

"So, even…waffles?"

Wilson burst into laugher. "_God,_ we're old." He said, finally.

"Why?"

"Oh, come on. You'd rather carboload for breakfast then…"

"Because I know what I'm going to do to you tonight, whether you're awake or not."

Wilson breathed in sharply. "House…"

"What? Afraid I'm gonna…"

"You're talking about something bad!" The girl squeaked.

House scowled at her. "No. We're talking about sex."

"House!" Wilson said.

The girl scrunched up her face in thought. "Okay…" She said hesitantly. "But be nice."

"Don't worry I will."

"House. Stop scarring children for life, please." Wilson said patronizingly.

"Right. Sorry." House said. "What were you saying?"

"Your leg hurts."

"Thanks for the news flash. Anything else you wanted to tell me?"

"Your cock is hard."

House smiled and looked to the floor. He could tell Wilson had that wide, cunning grin spread across his handsome flushed face.

"I'll see you at home." He said, after a moment.

"I'm going to bed. If you wake me up there will be _death_."

"Death I can deal with…lack of breakfast however."

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Dial tone.

**In reference to the lovely Lanie Kay-Aleese's review, I refer you to a disorder called methemoglobinemia.**


	13. Chapter 13

The phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Hey. Miss me yet?"

Wilson smiled as he turned the channel on the large television. "Of course." He said, pulling a pillow out from under the tightly made bed and stuffing it behind his head.

"How's the conference?" 

"Dull. As always. How's home?"

"Steve misses you."

"Sure he does." Wilson said. He hit the power button on the remote. The television blinked off. "How's work?"

"Boring. Neurosyphilis. How's the conference?"

"Boring. You already asked that."

"I can't think of anything else to say."

Wilson let his hand roam to his thigh. "Wanna talk about something fun?" 

"Uh, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Tease."

They sat quietly for a few moments, each breathing into their respective mouthpieces. Through the thin wall of his hotel room, Wilson heard the sounds of two doctors finding love, or at least a welcome distraction. The bedsprings sounded immeasurably loud. He rolled his eyes.

"What are you up to?" Wilson asked.

"Nothing. Television. Bottle of scotch." 

"Of course." He recognized the tone of his voice as annoyed, though he couldn't tell why. "Why'd you call?"

"What do you mean, why'd I call? Why can't I call?"

"No, you can. I was just wondering."

"I'm lonely."

"You're never lonely. You get bored. You never get lonely."

"I'm bored then. What's the matter with you?"

Wilson sighed. "Nothing. I'm fine."

"You are not."

"I'm fine, okay? Leave me alone."

"Can't" House spoke quickly in one of his sharp sarcastic voices. "Not the way this works."

"Would you just stop!" Wilson regretted his tone immediately. "Look," He said, more quietly. "I'm just tired, okay. I had a long day. I just wanted to watch TV and unwind and you called, so I wanted to know why."

House didn't speak, but let out a long held in breath.

"What is it?" Wilson asked.

"I just wanted to talk to you." He said. "I'm not so good at this anymore."

"Good at what?"

"Being alone. You haven't been away for more then a day in a while and I just…it's harder then I remember." House laughed. "I'm pathetic, huh?"

Wilson smiled. "A little." 

"So…" House said. "I think we should move."

Wilson's eyebrows attempted to escape from his forehead. "Did I just miss a whole bunch of this conversation?"

"I think we should move."

"Can't we talk about this when I get home?"

"That's just it. It's not your home."

Wilson's breath hitched just a little bit. He sat up. "I really wish you'd stop saying that."

"What? No. I mean…it's not your home. It's my crappy apartment. And even I only chose it because it's on the ground floor."

"No."

"But…" 

"No." Wilson tried to force a laugh. "I won't move that piano again."

"We'll hire someone to move the damn piano."

"No." Wilson repeated.

"Why not?"

"Because I like our apartment. It's small and loud and when I left Julie, it's where I went. You took me in and…I like that." Wilson smiled. "It's where everything happened."

"We'd have sex in the new apartment."

"I'm not talking about that. Remember the first time you kissed me? We were in the entrance to your building and you just grabbed me and hauled me inside. I thought you'd lost you mind."

"Well, you were gonna leave." House muttered, as though that made perfect sense. Which it did, in a House sort of way.

"You slammed my head against the door. I remember that. I remember being body slammed against this door and most of me is doing homophobic ew-ew-it's-a-man things but I'm also just so…relieved. I was thinking, _oh Christ, finally_."

"You were?"

"Yeah. What were you thinking?"

"_I hope he doesn't kick me in the nuts._"

Wilson laughed, a full belly laugh, and fell back onto the bed, curling one arm under his head. "How romantic."

"It wasn't about romance it was about…it was that this thing was leaving and never coming back and I just wanted a piece to remember it by."

"This thing?"

"Us. Don't you remember? We had a huge bitch match, major screaming on both ends…"

"Yeah. I remember."

"And you started to walk out. Really just, walk out, of all of this. You were walking away from me and going back to _her_ and it just pissed me off so bad that I grabbed you. I thought I was gonna punch you or something but I wound up grabbing you by the arms and pulling you inside and slamming the door and shoving you against it and I _still_ thought I was going to punch you and I just…didn't."

"You kissed me." Wilson said, more to himself then to House.

"Yeah. I did. You want to keep this apartment because I physically assaulted you in it once?"

"More then once. It's the place where we slept together for the first time and where we scared off a dozen pizza guys."

"It was like three. Maybe. Two and a half."

"You don't have any happy memories about your own apartment?"

"The time we nearly burnt down the kitchen? That was funny."

"The time _we_ burnt down the kitchen? Are you referring to the time _you _promised to take the bread out in twenty minutes and forgot about it for two hours or the time _you_ turned the sink hose on a grease fire?"

"See. We should move. All your happy memories involve me endangering your well being."

"I'm not moving. You can move. I'm staying right where I am." Wilson glanced around. "Well, okay, not _right_ where I am…"

"You do know you don't actually have to stay in a place to remember the things that happened there?"

"Yes, I'm the clingy one." Wilson said, dryly. "I'm the one who moved around so much as a kid I wouldn't let the hospital throw out the carpet I bled all over…oh wait." 

"Fine. We won't move. Just don't complain next time the couple upstairs start square dancing on Sunday morning or the brat three floors up breaks up with her boyfriend." House paused for a beat. "Again." Another beat. "Right outside our bedroom window."

"I stopped doing that the time I ran into that man from next door. I said, 'Do you think you could keep your dog a little quieter at night?' He just stared at me and kept repeating, 'Mozart at 3 AM. _Mozart_ at 3 AM. Mozart at _3AM_.'"

"It wasn't Mozart."

"Was it 3AM?"

"Maybe. I don't do well when you work nights."

"So, you're like a dog. A dog that can play the piano."

"Yes. Exactly." House sighed and Wilson recognized the calm in his voice. It was as if talking to Wilson worked on House like a mild sedative. Soon House would get sleepy and want to go to bed.

"I'm gonna go to bed."

Wilson smiled to himself. "Yeah."

"You too?"

"No. I need to get out of this room. I'm going down to the bar to have a drink. Then I'll go to bed."

"Don't stay up to late." House admonished.

"Night."

"Goodnight."

Dial tone.


	14. Chapter 14

The phone rang.

"Hello?" The blond beautiful woman asked sleepily, stretching one arm over her head and wiggling her fingers.

Dial tone.

"Did you order a wake up call?" The woman rolled over. She'd slept in her make up and her heavy eyeliner had smudged, giving her eyes a dramatic somber look.

"No." Wilson said, groggy with sleep. He sat up, pulling his tie away from his neck and blinking at the light. He rubbed his head, glancing at the clock. It was nearly ten.

The woman sat up as well, scratching her hands through her hair. "We fell asleep."

"Yeah." Wilson said. "Who was on the phone?"

"Nobody."

Wilson rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Something clicked.

"Shit." He dove across the bed and grabbed the phone off the bed stand, rapidly dialing numbers.

The phone picked up.

"House..." Wilson began.

Dial tone.

"Who's House?" The woman asked, pulling her shoes on.

"My boyfriend." Wilson said miserably, dialing the phone again.

The woman smiled. "That explains a lot."

Wilson glared. He was horrified to realize that the expression in question was one copied exactly from House's own repertoire. The woman raised her hands in surrender and picked up her coat and purse.

The phone rang once.

"I think I better go." The woman said, walking as she did so. Wilson nodded. The door slammed behind her, bouncing once out of it's lock before falling shut.

The phone rang again, then a third time.

Someone picked up.

"I didn't sleep with her." Wilson said, the words spilling out in a rush.

"Wilson?"

Wilson let his eyes fall shut, squaring his jaw. "Hi, Cameron." He said through gritted teeth. "Is House there?"

"I don't think he wants to talk to you."

"What is the point?" He heard House yell. "Of you answering the phone if you tell him I'm here?!"

"And thanks for guaranteeing a lovely day on our end." Cameron said, her voice low with sarcasm.

That was too much too close to awakening. "_Shut up,_ Cameron." He spoke clearly and distinctly as though instructing a five year old. "_Shut up and hand House the phone._"

There was a clatter and bang. Wilson heard the door slam, heard angry footsteps, heard mumbling.

"Oh for Christ's sake, would somebody pick up the phone?"

Somebody picked up the phone.

"Hello?" Chase asked. "What's going on?"

"Hey."

"Wilson?"

"Yeah, is House there?"

"House is pacing up and down the hallway. Cameron just ran past me in tears. Foremen is…making coffee. What's going on?"

"I messed up."

"Yeah." Chase said. It clearly meant _No shit_.

"Does House have his cell phone?"

"Uh…no. It's right here."

"Can you give it to him? Please?"

"Yeah, sure."

Wilson hung up quickly, pacing back and forth across his hotel room. Realizing he was still wearing yesterday's suit he dug through his bag, pulled out jeans and a T-shirt and threw them on. Then he sat on the bed and counted to sixty. Breathed deep. Counted to sixty again. When his heart stopped racing, he picked up the phone and dialed House's cell phone.

The phone rang.

It rang again.

Wilson wrapped the phone cord around his finger, watching the skin turn white.

The phone rang a third time.

On the other end, someone picked up.

Someone did not speak.

"House?" Wilson asked.

Someone did not speak.

"House? Please, is that you?"

The person on the other end let out a short even breath.

"It's me." House said finally. His voice was dramatic in its complete lack of emotion.

Wilson felt something sick inside him start to crawl up from his stomach. All the muscles in his face seemed to tense at once.

"I didn't sleep with her." He said.

"So I hear."

The silence between them was hard and awkward. Wilson thought a million different things to say, but rejected all of them. There was nothing to say. So he sat on his rumpled hotel bed, head bowed in his hand, trying not cry.

"Did you want to?" House asked.

"What?" It was a tiny squeak of a noise. Hardly a defense at all.

"Did you want to sleep with her?"

Wilson struggled through a million more excuses before deciding on the blatant fucked-up truth.

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"I don't." The tone he spoke in was childish and he stifled it immediately, coughing to cover up the noise. The action brought his stomach in and out quickly, jarring the sick feeling and making it worse. "I went to the bar and I had a drink and there she was and she was looking at me and I…I…I just wanted to know if I still _could_."

"You wanted to know if you still could."

"Yeah."

"Could you?"

"Oh, Greg…" And he winced, recognizing the statement for the manipulation tactic that it was. With four letters, he'd flashed his whole hand and had nothing else to bluff on. He'd used the G-word. That was all he had.

It didn't work.

House didn't say anything. Just breathed heavily, in an out. If Wilson hadn't known better, he'd have thought House was climbing stairs.

"I'm sorry." Wilson whispered, pathetically, trying not to count the times he'd had to say those words in just that way. "I'm so sorry."

"Yeah."

"Please, I'll get on a plane today. We'll talk in person, right? We'll talk when I get home?"

House's breath stopped on the inhale. When he spoke, the voice was tight, as though his chest were constricted.

"It's not your home."

Dial tone.


	15. Chapter 15

The phone rang.

The phone rang again.

The voice asked him to leave a message at the beep.

"Hey." Wilson said, looking confused at the constricted way his voice left his throat. He sat in the airport lobby, covering his bloodshot eyes with his hand. The cell phone pressed against his ear. "Hey, House…I'm, uh, I'm at the airport." He looked around, as if wanting to confirm it. "Gate 117, if you interested. Which…yeah…so…I'm coming home. I told them I had a family emergency. Just didn't tell them I caused it." He tried to laugh, but his throat was too dry. "So…I understand if you can't talk yet, I just, kinda…it'd be nice to know if I had anything to come home to." This last remark came out in almost completely the wrong tone and he drew his eyebrows together upon hearing it. "Yeah…that's not funny, is it?" He knew it wasn't. "I just wanted to call. I just wanted to say that I love you and that I'm sorry and that…" He chocked down something thick and unpleasant in his throat. "I just wish you'd talk to me."

Dial tone.

The phone rang.

The voice asked him to leave a message.

"Hey. Just called to say that I know your leg hurts. It's been hurting all day, hasn't it?" He gripped the slender armrest under his fingers, glancing shiftily at the empty seat beside him. "See, I do know you." He said this hoping to convince himself. When it didn't work, he got angry. "I know that you're sitting in that chair and watching the answering machine record and you're not even thinking about picking up. It's like I'm one of them now, isn't it? Like I'm one of those people who want something from you. Like I'm a patient. God, House. I didn't even _do_ anything. I just…damn, flight attendants coming. I gotta go."

Dial tone.

The phone rang.

The voice asked him to leave a message.

"Okay, We landed and I got my phone back, finally. I'm heading to the parking lot and, damnit, it's snowing…I…I…I don't have a car." All the energy in his voice seemed to seep out through one long breath. "Yeah, you drove me here…I don't have a car." He looked frantically around at the long line of automobiles, the happy tired people lifting rolling luggage into trunks. The hugs. The kisses. The relived sighs. The woman next to him pulled her coat around herself tighter and, spotting a silver minivan, smiled and made for it. Wilson sighed. "I don't have anywhere to go, do I? I always…I always went to you."

Dial tone.

The phone rang.

The voice spoke.

Wilson was inexpressibly tired. He leaned back in the McDonalds booth. A hamburger and Coke lay undisturbed in from of him. "I'm waiting for a room." He said. "If somebody doesn't show up by ten, they'll give it to me. Apparently…" The last word came out in forced lightness. "There is some sort of convention going on. Jehovah's Witness or something like that." He felt his face twitch in the instinct of crying but he swallowed hard and stopped the tears. "I called the hospital. I think Cuddy's on your side." His face twitched again and he brought his cold fingers up to press against his eyes. "I'm on your side too, okay. I was wrong. I was so wrong. But I can't make it better if you don't talk to me." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Baby…" He said, then paused, wondering if he'd ever used that endearment before. It had fallen from his lips with a certain amount of ease, but if he thought about it, it didn't really fit him or House or the situation they'd found themselves in. He stuck by it anyway. "Baby." He repeated firmly. He liked the word. He liked the sound and shape of it. He liked the image it projected and the way it felt in his mouth. "Baby, you have got to talk to me." He paused, lowering his face from the bright lights. "Please, you have _got_ to talk to me."

Dial tone.

The phone rang.

The voice spoke.

Wilson chocked back a sob.

"Right, so. I got a room. I'm at the Ramada by the airport. It sucks. I hate it. I hate this. I want to come home. Please, House. Please say I can come home. Please? Please just, god, say anything. Anything. Please? Just pick up. Please, pick up."

Silence.

"Yeah." He said quietly. "Yeah."

Dial tone.

The phone rang.

The voice spoke.

"Okay. You won't talk to me now. But you will, soon. And I'll be here. I'm not going anywhere, not until you say I can come home. I want to come home. As soon as you give the word, I'll come rushing home and do whatever you want to make this better. Please, if you just give me a chance I can make this all better, I promise." He laughed derisively. "I'm real good at making things up to people, you'll see. I just need another chance."

Dial tone.

The phone rang.

The voice spoke.

"I love you, okay. I love you. I love you. I love you. And it's not a game anymore; I'm not being a puzzle to keep you around. I need you. I really need you. I can't do this without you. Please, House, please. I need to talk to you."

Dial tone.

The phone rang.

Wilson sat on a hotel bed, his head in his hand.

The phone rang.

And rang.

And rang.

He sighed and very slowly hit the power button.

Dial tone.


	16. Chapter 16

The phone rang.

He sat on the floor, his back against another hotel bed.

The phone rang again.

His bags lay, still packed, in a heap by the door.

Miles away, in another state, someone answered.

"Hello?"

"Katie…" Wilson said, then immediately burst into tears. This was stupid and childish but he couldn't help himself, the tears came in, as did the thick horrible feeling he'd been swallowing all day.

"Oh, James." Her voice was very calm but there was sadness in there too.

"I messed up, Katie." He said. "Again."

"Where are you?"

He sniffed and wiped the tears from his face with the heel of his palm. "In a hotel."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah." He desperately tried to control of whining pitch of his voice, but found he couldn't. "No. He won't talk to me." He sobbed again.

"James, stop crying."

He sobbed again.

"_James_." She said forcefully. "Stop crying."

He stopped crying. His hand moved to his face occasionally to wipe wetness from his eyes, but he didn't sob and slowly the thick feeling in his throat ebbed.

"Okay." He said quietly.

"What happened?"

"I messed up." He said.

"You said that already. What did you do?"

He rubbed the back of his neck and then craned it to stare at the ceiling. "Nothing. Not really. I mean, there was this woman."

"Oh, James."

"Would you stop saying 'oh, James'!" He said, angrier then he'd meant.

"Hey, you called me."

He sighed. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm just…scared. I'm scared."

"Tell me what happened."

"The usual. Had to make everybody like me. Had to be boy wonder. Had to…"

"_James_." Her voice was firm. "Stop that. Feeling sorry for yourself isn't going to make this better. Now talk to me so I can help you."

"I was out of town. I went to a bar. There was this woman there and we started talking. She'd just gotten a divorce. I bought her a couple of drinks."

"How many is a couple?"

"I don't know. Six?"

"Oh…" She seemed to bite her tongues before completing her sentence. "Did you sleep with her?"

"Oh god, Katie…"

"Did you have sex with her?"

"No." He said, very softly. He stared intently now at the nape of the carpet, picking out the paths the rooms former occupants had worn.

"Are you lying?"

"Katie."

"Okay, okay, sorry." She huffed a sigh. "I don't know what to tell you. How'd he take it?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen him."

"You haven't seen him? How did he find out?"

Wilson cringed. "He called. She answered."

"Oh, _James._"

He didn't say anything.

"And you deserve that too. You at least had the decency to _tell_ me."

He didn't say anything.

"You know you have to talk to him."

"He won't!" Wilson spat. "I've called and called and he won't pick up."

"So get your ass over there and talk to him in person."

Fear numbed Wilson's stomach. "I can't."

"You can't? What do you mean you can't?"

"Katie. Stop. I can't. Don't ask me to do that. I can't do that."

"You _have_ to do that. That's what happens now. You messed up, yeah, but if you want to fix it, you have to talk to him. You do want to fix it, don't you?"

"I don't know…" He said. "Maybe…maybe it's not worth it."

"The hell you say."

"What?"

"The _hell you say_. James, I've never seen you as happy as you were at Thanksgiving. The minute you walked in the door I knew something was going on. You were in love. You're still in love, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"And you didn't pick up this woman because you were lonely or bored or desperate, right?"

"No. It was a completely new fucked up stupid reason."

"So work it out. Go home and work it out."

"That's just it Katie! It's not my home. It never was my home. It's his stupid apartment. I'm afraid if I go over there…"

"What? You'll find your stuff in bonfire on the lawn?"

"That's it. There. I don't have any stuff."

She paused. "You don't have _any_ stuff."

"Clothes. Some books. That's about it."

"James. Stop whining."

"I'm not…" He began.

"Stop. Now."

He took a breath. "I just have to wait."

"I think you should talk to him."

"No, you don't know him. He shuts down. That's how he works. When you hurt him, he shuts down. If you push him, he just shuts down harder."

"I guess you know him best."

This statement made Wilson feel just a little bit better. He didn't quite smile, but his face lost the miserable lonesome quality it had been projecting moments earlier.

"Yeah, I do."

"Are you gonna be okay?"

"Yeah. I guess so. Thank you."

"What I'm here for."

Wilson laughed to himself. "I'm an idiot aren't I?"

"Oh, yeah. Totally."

"Katie…Did you know? When we were together. Did you know?"

"That you were gay?"

"Yeah."

She sighed. "I knew…I knew that you weren't happy. I knew that…you needed something I didn't know how to give." She laughed. "Take that whatever way you want to."

"I was happy at Thanksgiving?"

"You were glowing. It was disgusting."

He nodded. "I guess I should go. Got to work in the morning." A thought struck him. "Maybe a patient of his will get cancer, and then he'll have to talk to me."

"I'll keep my fingers crossed."

"Goodnight, Katie. Thank you."

"Goodnight, James. Good luck."

Dial tone.


	17. Chapter 17

The phone rang.

Wilson woke.

The phone rang again.

He'd fallen asleep with the cell phone clutched in his hand and it took him a horrible moment to remember that. He sat up and answered. "Hello?"

Someone breathed.

"Hey." They said.

House.

Wilson closed his eyes and took an equally deep breath. "Hey." He said. "How are you?"

"I've been better."

Wilson shrugged off the blankets and rolled off the bed, stumbling in the darkness for the elusive light switch. His fingers rammed against it and light shone bright, temporarily blinding him. He blinked a few times as he spoke. "Hey, House...God, House, I'm…"

"Shut up."

Wilson shut his mouth.

"You're right, my legs been hurting all day and it's been because of you…"

"I'm so sorry."

"Shut up."

Wilson shut his mouth again.

"I know that you're sorry. I played your messages. I also know you don't really think you did anything wrong."

"I…"

"Shut. Up. Shut up until I finish talking or I'm going to hang up on you."

Wilson shut up.

House listened to the silence a bit, then continued. "So…This woman, who you may or may not have slept with and frankly it doesn't interest me one way or the other, this woman was probably good. For us, I mean. If there's this thing you need from women…well then it's not my place to get in the way of biology."

Wilson blinked a few times, trying to work out House's meaning.

"I mean…" House continued. "If you have an urge or a want or an itch you just go ahead and scratch it…and I'll be at home. At _our_ home. I'll be waiting for you and…just, you know, set them up and knock them down." House seemed to realize that didn't make sense. "Just fix them, pat them on the head and send them on there way…and then come home to me. That's what we'll do."

Wilson paused a moment, but House seemed to have finished.

"No." He said, clearly.

"What?" House asked.

"No."

"Why?"

"Because, that hurts you."

House said nothing for a long moment, then said in a very low voice, "I like a lot of things that hurt me."

"No. You're not giving me permission to hurt you. I won't accept that." Wilson ran a hand through his hair. "I messed up, but we don't have to scrap this whole thing and start over."

"We don't?"

"_No_." Wilson stressed firmly. "We were on the right track. We were really close…"

"Close to what?"

"Close to not being so royally fucked up all the goddamn time. Close to being really, truly happy together. Remember… that's what I always wanted, not some bleached blond bimbo from a hotel bar. I wanted to be happy. I wanted to do my job well and save who I could and I wanted to come home and I wanted to eat dinner with you and I wanted sleep at night next to you and I wanted to get up in the morning and make coffee because you're a lazy bastard…"

"Hey, I…"

"No. Shut up. I talk now. I wanted to make breakfast and go to work again and do my job and watch you do your job and be so fucking proud of you and come home and watch movies on the coach or do nothing but sit there and watch you play the piano. I wanted to be dragged to some bar to listen to some guy I'd never heard of sing songs I'd didn't know and I wanted to drag you places. I wanted you at Thanksgiving when I was so in love everyone could tell and I wanted you at home all the nights you had to work late and I wanted you that night at that stupid conference in that stupid hotel bar but you weren't there. And I wanted you so bad I messed up. I messed up worse then I've ever messed up before. And I'm so sorry. I was wrong. Yeah, I didn't do anything, not really and I was still wrong but, baby…" And he had used that word again. He shook it off. "I can make it right. I can fix it. Just give me a second chance and I promise. I can do it. _I can stop hurting you_."

Silence.

Wilson had to take in a long breath..

Silence on the line. He couldn't even hear the sound of House breathing.

Wilson let out a sigh and sank onto the bed, blinking back the wetness in his eyes. He waited. Waited for the next argument. The next rebuttal. He rubbed his head.

There was a knock on the door.

He didn't hope, because he wasn't letting himself, the same way he didn't look for a familiar car in the lot of that airport. He merely noted that the knock was heavy, as though someone had banged on the door with more then just his hand. His body moved automatically, walking across the room, undoing the security latch and opening the door.

It was House.

He had one hand in his pocket and was staring at the floor, his cap pulled low over his eyes.

Wilson opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

House pushed past him into the room, throwing the cell phone onto the bed. The door slammed shut, echoing in the quiet building and suddenly he was being grabbed, hard, by the collar of his shirt and shoved against the door.

His head slammed against the wood and he remembered this, he remembered…

House glared at him.

"Don't call me Greg _ever again_." He said.

Wilson nodded.

And House kissed him.

It was hard and good but mostly it was right.

Wilson's fingers fumbled for the power button before the phone dropped from his hand.

Dial tone.

**Thanks so much to everyone who read, reviewed and spoke kindly about me here and in other forums. ****To those who gushed about the format. Thank you. Take it. Steal it. Warp it to your own fevered imaginings. Consider this an open sandbox, as they say or the "Phone Tag Challenge." I'd be honored. If you wrote, posted and sent me the link, I'd be ecstatic. **


End file.
